


If You Had to Choose...

by AnnaofAza



Series: Eggsy and Jim [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types
Genre: Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, M/M, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: “Well, how did Jim pick you?” Eggsy tries.“You know,” Harry says, “I could never get him to tell me. But I’ve had my suspicions.”Or, Eggsy has to pick a recruit. But first, he wants some answers.
Relationships: Bill Haydon/Jim Prideaux, Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Series: Eggsy and Jim [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684480
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	If You Had to Choose...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missbecky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/gifts).



> To missbecky, happy birthday! Here's to you <3

The days pass. From hearsay, Jim knows of an Arthur being chosen, a successful first mission from Harry and Eggsy, strands that make their way to his quiet house through Harry or Merlin or his own investigations. Sometimes, he walks by the tailor shop, where he used to report to every morning, but never goes in. 

Often, there’s customers and nothing else. But at times, he catches a glimpse of a knight or Andrew--still working as a tailor. He never spots Harry, but once, Jim sees Eggsy, looking very serious in a pinstriped suit and parted hair and Kingsman glasses. 

When Jim gets home, he takes out another bottle of vodka. Yes, Eggsy had looked serious, but it was clear the boy--no matter what Harry said, he was still just a _boy_ \--was young in a way that Jim could no longer claim, a youth that Jim both envies and pities. 

Everything seems to come back now that he’s been reminded of it again, like a scab that’s been picked over when it was beginning to close. The dawning autumn in the nearby park reminds him of the scattered days at Oxford between slipping on wet leaves during a scratch game or walking through the quad. A quiet art gallery on the way to the store reminds him of the chaotically-beautiful paintings Bill used to do, vying for a spot in what he called the ruthless hunting ground for artists. Someone’s curl at the back of a passerby’s neck reminds him of the way Bill’s hair used to stray, whether it was out in the field or at his desk. 

And at night, he tosses and turns, memories and dreams tangling up in his head. Sometimes, blows fall upon him at Sarratt’s cricket field, a strand of holiday music plays throughout another interrogation session, Bill painting Ann at Oxford. Smiley sits with him in the motel room, whispering the litany of _tinker, tailor, soldier, spy_ in the time of bullets thudding against his flesh.

But the worst is a ghost long buried: Bill standing over him, Smiley’s cigarette lighter curled between his fingers; Bill walking up to him in the middle of that Christmas party and kissing him in full view of the Circus; Bill’s hand on his back during those long days at Sarratt that they called “recovery” and whispering his name…

In his dark moments, he hates Eggsy Unwin, hates for bringing all of this up again, then remembers that there is no one to blame but himself.

* * *

Eggsy’s put down his glass, heavy on the table, when Merlin’s voice rings out: “You must choose a candidate.” 

But he doesn’t hear much after that. It hadn’t been his mission, or Harry’s. It was a solo, something that sounded so easy: reconnaissance. But it had gone wrong: a bullet in the skull, nothing as lucky as Harry’s--

“Eggsy.” He hears Harry’s voice now, gentle. “The meeting is over.” 

He looks up, blinks. The holograms of the knights are gone, including Roxy, on her own mission in Sweden. If she wasn’t with Percival, Eggsy would be the first one on a jet; he wouldn’t leave her alone, not so close to this…

“I have to choose a candidate,” he echoes, numbly following Harry out of the room. “48 hours? I don’t know anyone.” 

“The tradition was 48 hours, but since we’re short-staffed, we’ve been given more time.” Harry places a hand on his shoulder. “You have time to think.” 

“I guess.” He discards Jamal and Ryan right away. He’s not losing them, not like that. There are some names he remembers from the Marines, but nothing much to go on, and he doesn’t feel like tracking them down. “I don’t know anyone,” he repeats. 

“You’ll find someone,” Harry says, but Eggsy’s mind has drifted away again.

* * *

Dinner with Jim is cancelled in the wake of finding new candidates and the upcoming trials, and secretly, Eggsy hopes that Jim forgets about it. 

Harry’s picked out his recruit. Eggsy had asked if it was the one Harry’d chosen before Eggsy had been swept to the police station, but Harry shook his head. _No. Died during V-Day._

_Could have been me_ , he now thinks, then feels a pang of guilt. Maybe if Eggsy hadn’t been picked up, if someone had been chosen instead of him. They might have known about Valentine, about the SIM cards, been warned...

He tries not to think about it, another thing that’s buried in the back of his mind. Instead of going down to the databases to search potential candidates, he goes to his mum’s and spends the afternoon playing with Daisy. She’s still quiet, a bit skittish from Dean and V-Day both, but trust is bright in her eyes when she looks at him. 

With that, Eggsy strikes something off a list he’s beginning. No one with kids. No one with family. No one with someone to lose.

He knows his deadline’s coming up, has texts from Harry and Merlin and Roxy to prove it, but doesn’t care much beyond making sure Daisy is happy. She colours some pages from a coloring book, plays with some stuffed animals, and watches a few cartoons, singing along to the catchy little theme song. 

How did anyone pick a recruit? What did agents look for? Potential, yeah, but you couldn’t go by some of those blokes in training. Pompousness? Connections? 

“How did you choose me?” he asks Harry that night. 

Harry, rarely enough, actually looks embarrassed. “You fell into my lap, so to speak. And I had a feeling that I wasn’t sure of, but I had to be certain.” 

Eggsy slowly nods. Long before they moved in together, Harry apologized for the bug, for testing him like that, but Eggsy understands. “Yeah, but you saw me first,” he says. 

“And read your file.”

“And read my file,” Eggsy repeats. Harry’s not a big sharer, true, but there’s a shorter list of what he’s tight-lipped about with Eggsy. (These include V-Day, his parents, and certain top-secret missions.) He doesn’t like to pry words out of Harry like searching for a splinter that keeps avoiding the tweezer, and knows by now when to cut his battles short. 

“Well, how did Jim pick you?” he tries. 

“You know,” Harry says, “I could never get him to tell me. But I’ve had my suspicions.” 

Eggsy stares at him. “They’re classified, aren’t they?” 

Harry nods solemnly, and Eggsy sighs, but he admires Harry for that, for sticking to principles and gentlemanly manners, slim pickings in his life. 

“Fair enough,” he says. “Any idea where we should get dinner Friday?” 

* * *

Harry’s sent off on a mission: a quick one, he’d assured Eggsy, in Venice, something involving seedy politicians and bugged gondolas. He’d be back by dinner, he thinks. 

Eggsy spent the entire time to wheels-up pacing around the front room and periodically checking his tablet, scrolling through possible candidates Kingsman had on the dossier. It’s probably lazy, but this way, he has choices to narrow down. 

He’s walked JB, made a cursory cleaning of the bathroom, started laundry, and hasn’t picked a candidate. Roxy texts him about a mission she has in Russia next month and asks if he’s free, because she wants his lock-picking and driving skills. His mum sends him a video of Daisy, who’d gotten into her makeup and jewelry drawer, giggling and jingling necklaces at the screen. Merlin pings him another reminder about choosing someone. 

Just as he’s about to reply, the doorbell buzzes. Eggsy puts down his phone and peeks at the security cameras: Jim. 

It startles him so much that he simply flings the door open without a thought. “Is something wrong with Harry?” he blurts. 

“No,” Jim says, not unkindly. “Nothing is wrong with Harry. I only meant to call on him.” 

“Well, he’s coming back soon,” Eggsy says. “Come in.” 

He thinks Jim might refuse, and honestly, he almost hopes he does. But Jim steps through the doorway, slowly and without moving to take his coat off, and immediately sits down on one of the chairs -- Harry probably didn’t pick up any upper-crush mannerisms from him, then. 

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?” Eggsy asks. He’s never felt this strange in Harry’s -- and his, now -- house since V-Day when he thought the occupant was gone forever. 

“Don’t suppose you have any vodka?” 

“No,” Eggsy has to admit. He and Harry, as much as they do indulge, aren’t too into that. 

Jim waves his hand. “Just martini ingredients?” he asks, and Eggsy swears there’s a hint of a joke in his voice. 

“Mostly,” Eggsy says. He goes to the drink cart. Martini stuff. Club soda. A few shots of tequila from the time Roxy came over. “There’s beer in the fridge,” he ventures. “And some champagne, probably gone flat now.” 

“Champagne?” Jim definitely sounds amused. “Very well, then.” 

Eggsy grabs a glass and starts pouring. 

“Had a birthday here,” he says, just to fill the air--and a small part that’s still stung by their last meeting wants to prove to the man that he and Harry are different than the shadow that lurks in Jim’s past. “Not mine, just a friend’s.” 

He hands the drink to Jim, pours one for himself. “I made the cake, with Roxy’s help, but the top layer slid off,” he continues, about to recount Percival laughing like a hyena when he sees the look on Jim’s face; the older man looks visibly bored, not even the polite _I see_ glance he sometimes gets from the older agents when he goes off about a new car game or album that dropped.

“We need another recruit,” Eggsy says instead. “Haven’t decided on mine. Have you ever recruited?”

“I thought about it,” Jim says. “A boy at the school I used to teach at.” He shakes his head. “Couldn’t do that. ‘Sides, wasn’t in the position to at the time.” 

“But you recruited Harry.” 

“Yes,” Jim says, “but that was a special case.”

“Then why Harry?” 

“I saw potential.”

“Yeah, that’s not too helpful.” 

To his surprise, Jim actually smirks. “All right, then. Fair enough.” His face settles into something more thoughtful, almost wistful. “He had ideas. Thoughts to change the world. Optimism.” 

“Something you didn’t like the last time we spoke.” 

“No,” Jim says, “he reminded me of someone. In better days.” Then, “You think of someone who you would want to see in a better world, but someone who knows that road will be hard.” 

“Who recruited you, then?” Eggsy asks. 

“Bill.” 

“Oh.” Eggsy tries to process this. He has questions, of course, if Bill recruited Jim for some sort of endgame. But it’s not the right time to ask this. 

_He has it, Fan. I’m serious now._

What did he see? Eggsy wonders.

* * *

Jim tries another approach, since the boy’s already reached out for help, and admittedly, to stop him from going down that well-beaten path. Eggsy’s not an idiot; he probably figured out the main parts with some digging, but he doesn’t know the full story and Jim doesn’t intend to share. Not yet. 

"Take you, for instance. You've always wanted to change things," Jim says. "A burning passion, an anger, a readiness to step forward and take the blow if it'll protect someone. Something to fight for, and you have the power to do that, something you never had before."

Eggsy's quiet for a moment, eyes suspicious. "How much do you know about me?" 

"Only what Harry's told me." Jim takes a sip of his drink. "But I can also fill in the blanks." 

"Oh, right. Spy." The words seem light-hearted enough, but Jim can easily see the sudden hardness, the defensiveness. 

"Yes, in many ways, you're lucky." 

Eggsy bristles at that. "I don't—"

"Like it or not, you wouldn't have been down this road if Harry hadn't recruited you." Jim says. "And Kingsman is in a better spot for it." 

That seems to pacify Eggsy. It would be amusing how easily his mood could turn on a dime if it wasn't such an easy crack in his armor. He wonders how Harry manages it. 

Harry Hart—a bloody good find. He'd known the day Galahad needed replacing that he'd put Harry's name up, even though he wasn't a knight. But Jim had to ask first, had to make sure Harry would choose this life before being thrown into it. 

Jim almost wished someone had asked him, as much as he missed having a country he could fight for. 

He knows Bill put his whole heart into everything, bet his soul against the world for a cause. To stand behind a flag—and even more, to be acknowledged for his sacrifice of making the world a better place. 

"You're lucky that Kingsman is its own entity," Jim now says aloud, "not just Queen and country. To be patriotic doesn't mean never criticizing it." 

"Good," Eggsy says, his accent coming out stronger than ever, "because I've got a lot to say about Britain." 

For a moment, Jim sees the same cocky blue eyes, the flash of righteous determination, but it quickly subdued in favor of the young man in the center of the room, arms crossed and ready to change the world—but not give up on it, either.

"And that," Jim says simply, "is why I chose Harry." 

* * *

That night, Eggsy dreams of blood splatter across glasses. A blue Kentucky sky. His own screams. A flash of metal, then disco lights, then Valentine laughing as the world map behind him lights up red. _Well, this ain’t that kind of movie._ Standing over Valentine, a sneer in his voice: _Ain’t that kind of movie,_ as the gasping figure turns into Harry, looking up at him with a too-blank stare...

Then, Harry is there, hand on his bare shoulder, saying, “Eggsy, Eggsy.” 

Just Harry’s touch, his voice is enough. 

This is the life he's chosen. All of them. A desperately isolating life, with death lurking on the corners, but still, making a difference with people he would have never met otherwise. He can't imagine anything different. 

He hopes he made the right choice. He hopes his candidate has someone like Harry.

Mind still swimming, Eggsy slides down beneath the covers, resting his head on Harry’s chest and counting his breaths until he falls asleep again.


End file.
